


The Way To Treat A Lady

by Geenee27



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 06:43:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13382346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geenee27/pseuds/Geenee27
Summary: Just another night in the dangerous town of Melbourne.





	The Way To Treat A Lady

“ _Whenever you think or you believe or you know, you're a lot of other people: but the moment you feel, you're nobody-but-yourself.” **E E Cummings.**_

 

The large slovenly man leaned over the uneven wooden counter and eyed his evening clientele whilst rinsing the dirty pint glass in a pail of tepid water. They were a solemn lot tonight, huddled in the dark recesses of the poorly lit room, whispering conspiratorially. The landlord grabbed a grubby towel from his shoulder and gave the glass a perfunctory swipe before returning it to the shelf behind him. 

 

The clock on the wall near the door read half eight, well past official serving time, however the people in the room were not much concerned about legalities. This after hours drinking establishment was well hidden behind a locked door, down a back alley and as far as they knew not known to the rozzers. The denizens of this particular hovel just wanted a quiet drink and kept their business to themselves. 

 

The bar man had paused to raise the stub of a cigar to the corner of his mouth when there came a muffled bang at the door, like the determined smack of the palm of a hand. Before anyone could move it was followed by a shout.

 

“Open up! I needs a drink!”

 

There was another thud. One of the men at the table nearest stood and slid the eye hole in the door open.

 

“Hoy, Lizard, keep the damn noise down. Ya wanna have every copper down on us!”

 

“Jus wanna a drink, thas all. Let me in Joe, ya scuzzy naff.”

 

The wary gent in question looked over his shoulder at the man behind the bar who just shrugged and nodded. The eye hole was closed, the bolt on the lock pushed back and Joe opened the door a crack.

The person on the other side pushed in and almost tripped and fell before they were grabbed by the elbow and steered towards the bar. They wobbled a bit, straightened and with some semblance of dignity smoothed down their coat and righted their hat.

 

The landlord found himself looking down at a tiny but formidable older woman swaying in front of him. Despite her unkempt appearance and smudges of dirt to her nose, she is a elf of a thing. Eyes bright and mischievous, peering out from under a fringe of grey hair.

 

“Hi ya Liz, what'l ya have.” 

 

“G'day Ralph, same - yer best.” He snorted.

 

“Let's see yer cash first Liz, I ain't givin' it away.”

 

The slightly dishevelled woman before him pursed her lips, proceeded to rummage around in her overly large coat pockets and finally produced a handful of coins.

 

“Whoa, flush tonight Liz. Your boy been helpin' his self to a few pockets.”

 

“Don't ya be say'n nuffin' agin my boy, he's a good lad,” she glared, jutting her chin up and daring him to say another word about the subject.

 

“Al' right, al' right. Here's ya pint. And I don want no trouble again tonight, so jus mind will ya.”

 

“Weren't me fault las' time, were it,” The little lady gave him her most beguiling smile and gratefully reached slightly tremulous hands to grasp around the glass.

 

**********************

 

It was after midnight as the figure stumbled along the path, seeking out a familiar place among the trees and shadows in the park. This was a typical Melbourne winter evening and although it wasn't exactly raining at the moment, there was a damp chill in the air that settled down in the bones. A tough night to be outdoors, especially when the bones in question had seen forty plus winters. 

 

The figure found the bench she had been looking for and was beyond pleased that it was unoccupied; although, truth be known, everyone knew this was _her_ bench and there would be hell to pay if they trespassed on her spot. 

 

She sat down, unfurled an old, moth eaten blanket she had stowed under her coat and wrapped it around her shoulders before pulling her shapeless hat down firmly on her head and laying down on her side. The beer had warmed her and she curled in on herself as she slowly drifted off to sleep.

 

The next thing she became aware of was being awakened by a noise close at hand. Someone was standing beside the bench and a pair of hands were going through the pockets of her coat. She half sat up, furiously trying to bat away the invader.

 

“Hey, what d' yer think you doin' ?” she called out. The thug pushed her down to the bench again but she managed to swing her upper leg hard and it connected with a soft spot.

 

“Why ya filthy... ,” the young thief howled and they grappled as he tried to relieve her of the outer garment.

 

“Oy, what's going on there?” His head shot up at the source of the yell and could make out two bobbing torch lights and running figures coming towards them out of the misty darkness. He took one more angry look at his victim, who was now cursing him loudly, then sped off in the opposite direction. Footsteps pounded behind him as he headed for the entrance to the park and the road. Gaining the streets again, he ran hell bent up the dirty cobblestones, desperate for an alleyway to duck into, not daring to waste a moment to peer behind at the figure chasing him. 

 

Several yards and minutes later he could tell the other man was gaining so he stopped suddenly, reached for the pistol in his belt, spun and fired. His pursuer ducked and dove behind a rubbish bin. With that, the thug turned and bolted, rounded a building, vaulted over a fence and was gone. The man he had shot at slowly rose from the ground, brushed the knees of his trousers, retrieved his hat and huffed out in frustration as he turned back to the park.

 

The middle-aged man who had remained with the older woman on the bench jerked his head up at what sounded like a gun being fired and froze. Fumbling, he quickly lifted a whistle, which hung on a lanyard around his neck and blew it for all it was worth, calling in reinforcements and praying his younger partner was okay.

 

He looked down at the woman.

 

“You alright Liz? Havin' a go at your pockets was 'e?”

 

“Ya, some git. I'll be alrigh'. Did't get nuffin. Jokes on 'm.”

 

The man looked around anxiously for help to arrive. After what seemed like an eon he stiffened as he heard someone approaching and then blew a sigh of relief as he caught sight of the returning constable who jogged up breathing heavily.

 

“Damn... got away... had a pistol... took a pot shot.” 

 

“Well, nothin' you can do against that,” his older partner reasoned.

 

“Is the woman alright, do we need to get her to a doctor?”, the concerned man asked as he caught his breath. 

 

“Na, she's fine, aren't ya Liz?” The woman straightened her hat and turned bleary eyes to her good Samaritans.

 

“Right as rain, gen'lemen,” she waved her them off, her cheeks rosy from the cold and exertion and perhaps a little from her imbibing activities earlier in the evening.

 

“Can we escort you home?”, the younger of the two men enquired, squatting down to look her over for injuries.

 

“Thank you lad, but I lives here, I'm good. Meetin' me son.” She beamed proudly as her blue eyes tried to focus. The man searched her face for a moment, nodded and stood, then turned sideways so as to lower his voice and speak to the other.

 

“We can't just leave her here.”

 

“Ah she's alrigh'.”

 

Brows furrowed at him dubiously. “It's too dangerous with that villain running around.”

 

“It's Liz. She can take care of herself. Been doin' it for years. Jus' needs somewheres ta sleep it off. That boy's long gone.” 

 

Noting the hard bench, the ratty blanket, the small figure he pressed, “It's not right.”

 

The older of the two could tell he was going to have to teach his new partner the way of the world.

 

“Listen lad, you'll learn soon enough, ya can't take it all personal like in this job, it'll drive ya nuts.”

 

******************* 

It had been a long night and the shift was almost over. A convergence of forces had resulted in their quarry now being safely ensconced in a guarded hospital room, facing a number of very serious charges. 

 

Before he left for the tram home, the young constable descended the stairs one more time to check on his charge in the cells. He leaned against the wall and peered in, saw she was resting comfortably and put the key to the lock. The barred door swung open with a slight creak and he stepped in. The woman he had brought in earlier was snugly tucked in and snoring softly. He bent down and tucked the package he had brought with him, folded in a clean handkerchief, inside the blanket where she held it closely to her chest.

 

The older woman's eyes fluttered open and became confused, “is... 'ere?” 

 

“I am... ah... afraid you are in a police cell,” he stammered.

 

“Wha... tha ... ,” she croaked, struggling to get up on her right elbow.

 

“I'm... sorry,” he apologized, his eyes downcast. “I... I... had to arrest you last night.” She gazed at his youthful features in amazement.

 

“Wha fer?”

 

“I... don't exactly know... I... I'll think of... something...,” he said sheepishly and gave her a slightly crooked little smile. Her eyes crinkled knowingly back at him. 

 

“What's your name?,” he asked softly. She was dubious as to why he wanted to know her name so he added, “You know, for the paperwork. “ He winked at her and she almost chuckled aloud.

 

“Elsie... Elsie Tizzard. But most calls me Lizard or Liz.”

 

“Well, how about I call you Elsie?” She nodded, pleased, no one had called her that in a very long time.

 

Her hands found the package under the covers in front of her. 

 

“Wha's this?” she pulled it out and looked down at it.

 

“Shhhhh,” he gestured with a finger to his lips, “ don't give me away. It's from my secret stash.”

 

She gaped, then looked at him a little closer. 

 

“I don' think I seen ya afore, you a new'un'?'

 

“Fresh from the academy,” the man confessed, cheeks turning a little pink.

 

She laid a hand on his sleeve. “You're a good lad. Like me Matty. Did I ever tell you about my boy?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
